


where we break when our hearts are strong enough

by poalof



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-War, Redemption, magicat lore that is loosely based in 80s canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalof/pseuds/poalof
Summary: “I mean Etheria is never going to just let us have a right time. We have the right place and the right person and I’m afraid because what if we keeping telling each other we’ll wait until we get it right but we never do? What happens next?”“We keep going forward, right?”





	where we break when our hearts are strong enough

The journey to Beast Island is long. Catra is held in a small cell below deck. There are few things she is sure of anymore. They are:

1\. There is no way to tell how much time has passed. Moonlight fails to fight its way past the ship’s exterior so she cannot count the days. From what she can guess, she has been onboard for three days.

2\. She is being sent somewhere to suffer and, eventually, die. She remembers the stories the older cadets would tell when she was younger – sharp claws and jagged teeth at every turn, the worst punishment known to the Horde. There’s not much she can do but fight and survive.

3\. She shouldn’t expect to be rescued. Months ago, before she let Adora fall, before she tore into She-Ra’s back, before she turned her back on Scorpia and betrayed Entrapta and opened the portal and –

No one is coming to save her.

Catra drifts in and out of sleep. She always dreams of the same thing. Scorpia and Entrapta, faces full of fear and shock and betrayal; Adora and Hordak, angry. The rocking of the ship proves to be too much sometimes. When she wakes, she crawls to a corner and gets sick, then moves to the other side of the cell, as far away as possible, and curls around herself in the dark. 

The cuffs on her wrists and ankles are too tight. They’re all connected to each other by a thick chain rather than the usual plasma bonds. It’s heavy and hard to move, which she thinks is probably the point but a little unnecessary given that she isn’t going anywhere – she’s already in a cell.

She can hear the other prisoners on board, grumbling and moaning and shuffling noises that can only be attributed to living things, but she cannot see them. There’s someone singing – humming, really – and she’s can’t place it but Catra knows the song. Something about it scratches at the back of her skull, the kind of itch one gets when they don’t know what something is, only that they know it. One of the other prisoners yells, “Shut up!” and it stops. 

The Horde ship doesn’t take them all the way to Beast Island. It anchors about a hundred yards out. Catra can see for a brief moment each time the guards let a prisoner out, one-by-one. It’s too bright every time.

Eventually the guards come to her cell and pull her out, fast and hard, the way someone moves when angry with boredom. She’s dragged up the stairs and onto the deck. It’s sometime in the middle of the day from what Catra can tell. None of the other prisoners are there.

“Where is everyone?” she says.

The guard nods behind her and she turns. 

A line of bodies in the water straggles towards the land mass in the distance. 

She feels pressure on her ankle and turns back. The guard is unlocking the shackles. They move up to her wrist and undo the shackles there, rough, then guide her to the edge of the ship by prodding her in the back, even rougher.

They say, “Good luck,” and then Catra is falling through the air, one, two, until her body collides with the water and she’s plunging below.

The water is dark but calm. Catra looks around under the surface. There’s nothing there but her, the bottom of the ship, and the other prisoners in the distance. She cannot see the ocean floor. She kicks up.

Catra breaks the surface and gasps, hard. There’s nowhere to go but the island. She swims.

The beach is hard. Rocks, some jagged, some smooth, fill the space between the ocean and the forest. Catra finds one that is large enough to fit her whole body and lies down on top. Somewhere on the beach the other prisoners have gathered around a small fire made from driftwood. There’s a strong breeze but it’s hot and Catra’s clothes are soaked and ripped and uncomfortable.

There hasn’t been any movement or noise from the forest, nothing to indicate anything alive within. Nothing for her to fear.

Her mind wanders to the Before. How, in the portal, she had Shadow Weaver’s approval and her peers’ respect and Adora’s love. How, in the portal, Adora would never have stayed, always putting the world above Catra, duty above Catra. How now, in the After, she’s trapped on an island with no one but herself and no chance to ever have Adora.

The moons set and Catra can’t sleep. The fire down the beach is still burning, the bodies of other prisoners gathered around it. She stands on her rock and looks around, searching for movement, anything, in the forest. There’s nothing.

Catra jumps down from the rock. She lands hard, her foot slipping between two of the smaller rocks on the beach and twisting. She has to clench her jaw to keep from crying out. There’s pressure building in her throat and behind her eyes and a warm pain spreads along her leg. She looks towards the fire, then the forest. She opts for the forest.

It’s darker in the forest than on the beach. The sound of waves breaking and the tide washing in and out fades the farther in she walks, replaced by silence. The trees are thicker in here than they were by the beach. They’re taller, too. Catra considers climbing one to sleep but given the state of her ankle, she isn’t sure she could make it up to even the lowest limb without falling. Each step she takes makes the warmth hotter, the pain sharper. She needs to find something to set it, soon, but there’s nothing she can use to bind.

There’s still no noise from anywhere else in the forest, only the sound of twigs snapping and leaves moving as Catra limps through, directionless.  
She finds a small log and drags it to a relatively dry area next to one of the trees. She sits down and leans back against the trunk, propping her foot up on the log. There’s nothing in the darkness and silence but her.

Catra wakes to a sharp pressure on her throat. It’s lighter out now. Morning. There’s a person standing in front of her. They’re holding a spear against Catra’s throat and behind them are three other people also armed. Catra doesn’t recognize them as any of the other prisoners.

“Stand up,” the one with the spear says.

Catra blinks and looks down at the shaft of the spear. “You might need to move that.”

Their tail moves back and forth quickly and their ears turn the sideways. They press the spear against Catra harder and lift it so she’s forced to look up.

“Don’t talk back,” they say before letting the spear fall. Catra stands.

“Who are you?” one of the people from the back says. She’s taller than the rest. Her fur is ginger, darker where it is striped and swirled, a patch of white peeking out from her shirt collar.

Catra considers not telling them. There’s no reason they need to know who she is or where she’s from but she’s injured and they have weapons and there’s four of them and one of her, so she weighs her options and says, “My name is Catra.”

The people stare at her. The man in the back, sleek black fur and small green eyes, huffs out a laugh.

“Seriously,” the woman says, “what is your name?”

“I told you. My name is Catra.”

The one with the spear starts to raise it but the woman holds up her hand in a fist and they lower it.

“You need to come with us,” she says.

“I can’t walk very fast,” Catra tells her and gestures towards her ankle.

The woman sighs. “Neen, fix that,” she says to the woman behind her. “You,” she gestures to Catra, “sit down.”

Catra does as she is told.

“My name is Nadia.” She gestures to the man with black fur and says, “That is Cyril,” then the one with the spear, fur black and white, “and that is Kian. Nazneen will fix a splint for your ankle. You will answer a few questions for us in the meantime.”

Catra crosses her arms and leans back against the tree trunk. 

“Where did you come from?” Nadia says.

“I was brought here as a prisoner of the Horde,” Catra says.

The people share a look.

“And you made it this far into the woods unharmed? Besides the ankle?” Nadia asks.

“Yes.”

“So the Horde captured your town and you rebelled and were brought here as prisoner?” Nadia asks.

“No.”

“You were a Horde soldier that tried to desert and that is why they sent you here?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

Catra considers lying. Instead she says, “I was the Horde’s second-in-command. I nearly ripped apart the space-time continuum and lied to Hordak in order to do so. When he found out, he sent me here.”

Cyril laughs again. Kian raises their spear again and this time Nadia doesn’t stop them.

“You are telling the truth?” Nadia asks.

“Why would I lie about that?”

“We should kill her right now. There’s no need to endanger everyone else by bringing a Horde officer back,” Kian says.

“No. She is one of us Kian. She deserves to have a fair sentence from the others. We are taking her back.”

“Hey, what do you mean I’m ‘one of you’,” Catra says.

All three of them turn to her.

“Catra,” Nadia says. “You are a Magicat.”

Nazneen returns and sets Catra’s ankle. 

“So you’re, like, a big bad in the Horde?”

“Not anymore,” Catra says, wincing while Nazneen works on her ankle. She pushes something and pain flares up. Catra yelps. The other Magicats turn towards them. Catra avoids looking at them.

“Sorry about that,” Nazneen whispers.

“It’s fine,” Catra grits out.

Nazneen finishes tying some sort of vine around the sticks and stands up. She holds out her hand. Catra looks from her ankle to the hand and then takes it with her own and lets Nazneen pull her up. 

“Kian, come help me,” Nazneen says. She puts Catra’s arm over her shoulder and has her put her other arm over Kian’s shoulder. “We’ll be able to move faster this way.”

They walk behind Cyril and Nadia walks behind them. Catra can feel her eyes on the back of her neck, a prickle of heat from being watched. 

“Where are we going?” Catra says.

“To the other Magicats,” Nazneen says.

“They’ll decide what to do with you,” Kian says.

“Stop trying to scare her, Kian. It’s not your fault you were in the Horde, Catra. The Elders will understand. Hopefully.”

“Stop talking, all of you,” Nadia says from the back. “We are almost there.”

They come to a massive clearing. Along the edges are flat spaces, fields used for cultivation. In the center are buildings. They’re small and low to the ground. Some are painted pink or blue but most of them are a dull brown.

Cyril takes them through the village to the center, where the largest building is, and stops. Nadia opens the front door and leads them inside.

It’s beautiful. One circular room makes up the building, walls going up until they form a dome. Geometric patterns are painted on the floor and walls and ceiling, bright and vibrant and mesmerizing. Catra doesn’t realize she has stopped walking to marvel at it until Kian nudges her and grumbles, “Keep moving.”

Nadia takes them to the door on the other side of the room. “Watch your step on the way down, Catra.”

She leads their group through the door and down a spiral staircase on the other side. It’s wide enough that Kian and Nazneen can still help her walk down but it’s hard to see and they move slowly. The walk feels like it will never end. Catra is reminded of her journey to Beast Island – too dark for the passage of time – and hopes that she won’t become a prisoner again when the stairs end.

The stairs end when they reach another door. Nadia opens it and a bright light fills the small room. Outside the door are vast caverns. Light streams in from holes at the top. Trees fill the space and Catra realizes they’re standing on some sort of cliff rather than the ground. From up here she can see buildings – on the ground and in the trees – and people walking and climbing. There are bridges connecting the trees. An entire city, an entire civilization, underground and unheard of.

“You cannot climb on your own so I will take you down on my back. Kian and Nazneen will help you to the Meeting House the same way as before,” Nadia says. She walks over to Catra until she is standing directly in front of her. “You will put your arms under mine and around my chest. Your legs will go over mine and wrap around my front. Do you understand?”

Catra nods.

“Good. Get on,” she says and turns around. Nazneen gives Catra a gentle nudge and she gets onto Nadia’s back as instructed. “Do not move too much,” Nadia says.

They move down the tree slowly. The others watch from the top until Catra and Nadia are about halfway down, then start to follow.

When they reach the bottom, Kian and Nazneen position themselves the same way as before to help Catra walk. “The Meeting House is not too far. You can sit once we get there,” Nazneen says.

“What is the Meeting House?” Catra asks.

“It’s where decisions that concern the public opinion are made. The Council usually meets there and it used to be where diplomats and royalty stayed when they visited. Since you’re a Magicat but you were part of the Horde, we’re taking you there so the Elders can discuss what should be done,” Kian explains. “It’s an unprecedented situation. We thought the only Magicats that surv –”

“Kian,” Nadia interrupts, “be quiet.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Nazneen says. “The Elders, they’ll understand. You’ll be fine.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the walk. Catra looks around at the city. Every building they pass is painted with patterns and words in an alphabet she has never seen before but can read. Most of the writing advertises food or goods for sale but some of it is telling stories or describing scenes and feelings.  
The Meeting House is covered in writing from top to bottom.

“Those are the laws made by the first Magicats,” Nazneen tells her. “Some of them have changed but we keep them up there as a reminder of where we come from. The Great Library has all of the laws that followed these on it.”

“What if they run out of space on there?” Catra says.

Nazneen shrugs. “We’ll figure something out.”

The inside of the Meeting House is blank.

“It’s to create an environment free of bias,” Nazneen explains. “It was designed with diplomats from other parts of Etheria visiting in mind.”

Nadia clears her throat from in front of them. “We are going in. Catra, do not speak unless spoken to. If you follow our customs, they may be more lenient.”

Catra nods. They follow Nadia. Nazneen and Kian lead Catra to an empty chair at one end of the table and help her sit down. “Good luck,” Nazneen whispers before she and Kian join Nadia and Cyril behind her.

Three Magicats enter the room. Two are older, late fifties or early sixties if Catra had to guess, but the third can’t be any older than thirty. They sit at the other end of the table, all three of them across from Catra.

“Please rise,” the one in the middle says. She is one of the older Magicats. Her features are sharp and fierce.

“She cannot, Elder Akbar,” Nadia says.

“And why is that?” Elder Akbar says.

“She is injured, Elder. Her ankle was sprained prior to our finding her. When this meeting is over, she will need medical attention.”

“Did you not treat her?” the younger Elder says.

“We did, Elder Farhadi. Nazneen was able to provide a temporary solution but the injury is too severe to heal with only that.”

“Right. We will see to that when the meeting is over, then.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

“Please begin your case,” Elder Akbar says.

“Kian was on their usual patrol route last night. They came across her around early morning and alerted Cyril, Nazneen, and myself. She told us her name was Catra and she used to be a member of the Horde. She claims she was second-in-command until Hordak was angered by her decisions and cast her out. He sent her here as punishment.”

“And why did you bring her here?” the other older Magicat asks.

“Because she is a Magicat, Elder Haddad.”

“And you said her name is Catra?” Elder Akbar says.

“Yes, Elder.”

“Is everything Nadia told us true, Catra?” Elder Akbar’s eyes narrow when she says her name.

“Yes,” and then, “Elder.”

“I see,” Elder Akbar says. “Cyril. Please find Havva and Suri. Bring them here. The rest of you are dismissed.”

A chorus of “Yes, Elder,” rings out from behind Catra.

Catra is left by herself on one end of the table and the Elders on the other. The whisper to each other and sometimes, if she focuses hard enough, she can pick up little pieces of what they’re saying - _are you sure it’s her, Akbar?, imagine the toll it would take on them if you’re wrong, who else could she be?_ \- but for the most part she is left in the dark.

A knock comes from the door.

“Come in,” Elder Akbar calls.

Two women walk in, both in their mid-fifties, and Catra feels a pull, an urge to stand and go to them.

“Havva, Suri, please have a seat,” Elder Akbar says. They do as she says and she continues. “This is Catra. Several of our guards found her while on patrol. She was an officer in the Horde before she was sent here as punishment.”

One of the women keeps rubbing her hands together. The other puts her hand over hers to steady them.

“Look at her eyes, please.”

The women look at her directly for the first time since coming in the room. The one covering the hands brings her own hands up to her mouth. The other gasps. She turns to Elder Akbar and says, “C’yra?”

Elder Akbar nods.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Catra says, “but what is going on right now? Why are they freaking out?”

The woman who gasped is the first to speak. “My name is Suri. This is my wife, Havva.” She stops, then says, “I don’t know how to explain this.”

Havva shakes her head.

“Catra,” the youngest elder - Elder Farhadi, Catra later learns - says. “Seventeen years ago, the Horde attacked the portion of Half-Moon aboveground. Most of us were able to get underground to safety. However, Havva and Suri were unable to find their daughter. She was two at the time. We spent months scouring the island for any sign of her. Search parties were told to look for a young Magicat with light brown fur and a dark brown mane and markings and were told that her eyes were a defining feature: one was yellow and one was blue. Elder Akbar believes that you are that missing child.”

Catra’s lips twist.

“We tried so hard to find you,” Havva says. “I can show you.”

“What do you mean you can show me?” Catra asks. 

Havva looks towards the Elders. Elder Akbar nods and Havva stands. She walks towards Catra.

“You can stand,” Havva says.

“You’ll have to help her up, Havva,” Elder Akbar says.

Havva looks down and Catra shows her her ankle.

“Oh,” Havva says, “yes, Elder.”

She offers Catra her hand and Catra lets herself be pulled up until she is standing.

“You have to clear your mind. It will feel funny at first but I promise you won’t be hurt.”

Catra nods and Havva leans down until their foreheads touch. Catra’s forehead starts to buzz, warm. The feeling spreads down her neck and through her chest to her arms and legs and fingers and toes and –

_She’s in the village from before. The buildings are burning and the fields are burning and in the distance, smoke rises from the trees. Horde soldiers are everywhere. Bodies lie still on the ground._

_She speaks but when she hears her voice, it’s Havva’s._

_“She’s not here, Suri! I’ve checked every building. She isn’t in any of them.”_

_“Then where is she, Havva?”_

_“I don’t know! But she’s not up here. Hopefully she’s already down there. If she’s not, then she’s in the woods. We’ll find her.”_

The feeling goes away and Catra is back in the Meeting House.

“I’m sorry we didn’t try harder,” Havva says and Catra wants to be angry but she thinks about the life she could have had, safe and loved, and the people she would have had it with, the people who wanted to give her a life like that, and she can’t feel anything but sorrow.

“There’s nothing you could have done. The Horde would have killed you,” Catra says.

“We would like to bring you home with us, if you’d like. If you don’t already have plans to go elsewhere,” Suri says.

Catra looks at Elder Akbar. 

She nods and says, “You’re dismissed.”

Catra has to hold onto Havva’s back as she climbs the tree up to their house. It should feel weird, she thinks, but it feels easy, natural, being this close to her mothers.

Suri gives her a tour. The living space, cooking space, and dining space are all contained in one main room. This is common among Magicat homes, Catra learns. There are three other rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and an empty room.

“It was your bedroom,” Suri says. “We’ll get you some furniture soon. In the meantime you can stay on the couch. Is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Catra says.

“I’m sure you’re tired after today. If you want to eat and then sleep right away, that’s fine. It’s probably best that we all get an early night. Havva and I can show you around the city tomorrow. We can get you something new to wear then.”

Havva makes stew for dinner. It’s the first real meal Catra has had in days.

“What’s in this?” she asks when she finshes. Havva and Suri both have half a bowl left.

“Rabbit, parsnip, mushrooms, garlic,” Havva says. “There’s some parsley and thyme, too. I can teach you how to make it if you want.”

Catra nods, says, “Can I have more, too?”

Havva and Suri both laugh. “Sure, C’yra, help yourself.”

It’s not a name Catra is used to but it feels right, oddly.

_C’yra._

Catra wakes up to Havva and Suri’s voices somewhere else in the room. They are soft but the room is small. Still, she doesn’t remember a moment when she has felt calmer. She can smell something cooking in the kitchen. One of her mothers is whistling. 

Catra sits up.

“Good morning, C’yra,” Havva says. “How did you sleep?”

Catra turns on the couch so she can see her. Havva is sitting at the table they ate at last night. Suri is standing next to a stove of some kind – Catra isn’t exactly sure what it is, but she can tell Suri is cooking.

“I slept well,” she grins.

“You’ll be sleeping even better when we get you some furniture of your own,” Havva says and Catra’s grin grows wider.

“We can get you some new clothes, too,” Suri says. “I know it doesn’t sound like a lot but three outfits should work for now. If you ever need something more ceremonial, we can handle that when it comes around.”

Catra nods. They sit in silence for a while, only the sound of Suri’s cooking filling the house, until Havva starts whistling again. It’s familiar and Catra is sure she has heard it before – recently, even – but she still can’t put her finger on it. Something itches at the back of her skull. She lets it go.

Elder Akbar approaches Catra in the market near her house. Havva has sent her there to pick up some peppers to put in their dinner. It has been a week since she arrived and she is wearing her new salwar kameez – deep blue with gold embroidery.

“C’yra,” Elder Akbar says, “or do you still prefer Catra?”

“Either one works, Elder,” Catra says. “Still getting used to being called C’yra if I’m being honest with you.”

“Yes, well,” Elder Akbar’s lips twist, “I am sure it will take some time for you to grow accustomed to your new-old name.”

She’s joking, Catra realizes. She offers her a small smile.

“Anyway, C’yra, if _I_ can be honest with _you_ I need your help. You are one of the only people Half-Moon has seen from another part of Etheria in almost two decades. I would appreciate if you would come to a meeting with myself and the Council to explain what the situation is like out there. Your insight would be very helpful to us.”

Catra shrugs. “When would I do it?”

“If you could come to the Meeting House tonight before the moons set, that would be wonderful. You can sit in on the beginning portion of the Council meeting and then I can introduce you to the rest of the Council. How does that sound?”

“Sure,” Catra says. The only plan she has for the evening is eating dinner with her mothers and she is sure they won’t mind her missing dinner to attend a Council meeting.

“Wonderful. Thank you, C’yra. I’ll see you soon,” Elder Akbar says.

Catra sits in a chair against the wall. All three of the Elders sit at one end of the table, the same as when she was first brought here. Other Council members line the sides of the table. The side opposite from the Elders is empty except for a single chair.

Elder Akbar meets her eye and gestures for her to walk to the other end of the table. Catra stands behind the chair until Elder Akbar says, “Please, sit,” and she does.

“You all have heard of C’yra returning to Half-Moon by now. I have invited her here to tell us of her experiences in Etheria up until this point,” Elder Akbar says. She nods towards Catra, says, “Please speak freely, C’yra.”

She does. She tells them of growing up in the Horde under the care of Shadow Weaver, of rising through the ranks until she is second-in-command, the most efficient leader the Horde has ever seen. She tells them of the new She-Ra and the reformed Princess Alliance. She tells them of taking over the Crimson Waste in a day, of destroying everything she knew, of being cast out. And then, she tells them something she isn’t sure she believes until she says it aloud.

“We should help them. The Princesses, I mean.”

Eyebrows raise and arms cross. Murmurs of disapproval sound across the table.

“You have been here not even a week and you think you can even suggest such a thing?” Elder Haddad says.

“I meant no disrespect, Elder, but the Magicats have –”

“We have kept ourselves safe,” Elder Haddad cuts in. “You are out of place, young lady.”

“My apologies, Elder,” Catra says, hoping her frustration doesn’t show.

Elder Akbar nods once more. “You are dismissed, C’yra. Thank you for your help.”

Catra stands and leaves.

She goes to the Great Library. It is one of the only public buildings open so late in the day – most of the shops have closed to allow the shopkeepers to go home. 

It’s dimly lit inside, only a few lanterns burning along the walls. She picks one up and walks down the nearest aisle, picks up the heaviest looking book she can find, and takes it to a table. The lantern is old and somewhat dingy but the light it provides is enough to read by.

Catra is halfway through the first chapter – something about the relationship between advancements in mechanical technology and the value of art – when someone sits down next to her. She keeps her eyes focused on the book but finds she can’t focus on reading.

“It was brave what you said in there,” the person says.

Catra lifts her head and turns towards them. Her mouth opens and closes and then opens again. “Thank you, Elder.”

“You shouldn’t have said it, really,” Elder Farhadi says, “but I admire that you said it. Obviously it goes against our customs, which I don’t expect you to have a full grasp on quite yet, but it is good that you know what you stand for. I can certainly see you making a future for yourself here, C’yra.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

Elder Farhadi nods. She turns to one side, then the other, looking behind herself both times. “To the west of the island is the old port. Ships there should still be in good enough shape for you to make it to the mainland,” she says, voice lowered. “You could even take a small team if you wanted. If all of you make it back alive, I believe great things could come to you, C’yra.”

Catra sits back, shocked. “You’re telling me I can fight back?”

“I am telling you what you need to know to do so. I am not condoning you doing it.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

Elder Farhadi winks. “We’ll keep this between us, okay?”

“Yes, Elder,” Catra nods.

“Good.”

Elder Farhadi leaves. Catra sits until the oil in the lamp burns out.

Catra hears a faint _Who is it?_ from the background when Nazneen answers the door.

“It’s Catra,” Nazneen calls back.

Nadia’s face peeks around the door. “Hello, Catra. How are you?”

“I’m well,” Catra says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you two lived together –” Nazneen laughs, Nadia smiles “– but this’ll make things easier. I need your help.”

“What with?” Nazneen asks. She opens the door so both she and Nadia are visible in the doorway.

“I’m going to mainland Etheria to fight against the Horde. I was hoping you would come with me.”

“Why?” Nadia asks.

“Because you two have been helpful since you found me, I guess,” Catra shrugs, suddenly less sure of herself.

“No, I mean why do you want to fight against the Horde?”

“Oh. I guess,” she stops, starts again. “I guess there’s a few people I need to make some stuff up to and this is the best way to do it.”

Nazneen shrugs. “I’m in.”

“Me as well,” Nadia says.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Catra asks.

“Yes. We will get Cyril and Kian on board with the plan, too. Just tell us what we need to do,” Nadia tells her.

“The port on the west side of the island will have a ship that can get us to Salineas. From there, we go to Bright Moon. We should meet at the top of the stairs tonight at moonset. We should be able to make the trip in about a day.”

Getting to Salineas is easy. They meet above-ground at moonset and walk west until they reach the sea. A small boat - large enough to hold all of them and their supplies - is by the docks, clearly out of use but in good enough shape to make the trip. Surprisingly, Cyril knows his way around a ship well enough that they make it to the Sea Gate by moonrise.

From there the trip to Bright Moon takes the better part of the day. The moons are approaching the horizon when they get close enough to see the smoke.

“Fuck,” Catra says.

Something thumps behind her. Catra turns and sees Nadia’s bag on the ground.

“Everyone drop your supplies,” Nadia says. “We need to move fast. We can come back and collect our belongings once the battle is over.”

Catra stands frozen as the rest of the group follows Nadia’s orders.

“Catra, we need to go now,” Nazneen says. “Come on.”

“Right,” Catra says. She drops her stuff and extends her staff – a gift left anonymously at her mothers’ home the night before she left. “Let’s go.”

Catra takes the lead, following the most direct path to Bright Moon through what remains of the Whispering Woods. When they reach the edge of the woods, she realizes it’s even worse than she expected. Horde tanks and foot soldiers surround Castle Bright Moon. Smoke rises from the castle and the buildings surrounding it. The princesses are split up, isolated from each other and barely fighting back the Horde forces around them.

“Split up,” Catra says. “Pick one princess and pick off the soldiers around her. When you’re done, pick another.”

The group nods in affirmation.

Catra scans the battlefield for a sword, for golden hair, for a glowing body, for _something-_

She’s on the ground. Horde soldiers surround her. Her sword is in the hands of two soldiers. They’re carrying it away from the battlefield and towards a tank and she is left defenseless. 

“Fuck,” Catra repeats.

There’s no hesitation after that. Catra sprints across the field, dodging soldiers and blasts from tanks, taking out as many as she can along the way. She thrusts the end of her staff against the first soldier’s chest and leaps over their body as they fall, jumping up and onto the second soldier. She slams her staff into their helmet and they crumple to the ground. She takes the third out with a swipe to the legs and the fourth with a jab to the gut. She loses track of how many more she takes out – she fights until they stop attacking.

Catra glances around the field – the other princesses are still fighting but in better condition than before. A groan from the ground draws her attention.

Adora sits up. She is no longer She-Ra. She looks around the ground next to her before looking up. Her eyebrows raise, then furrow as she narrows her eyes.

“Catra?”

“Hey, Adora,” she grins. Then, just because she can: “You’re welcome.”

Catra wakes up to voices. They’re hushed and familiar. One is angry.

“I still don’t know why we’re allowing her to stay here, Bow,” the angry voice says. “She should be locked up somewhere. We can’t trust her.”

“She saved Adora, Glimmer,” Bow says. “She isn’t hurting anyone by sleeping in a chair.”

“Still, don’t you think it’s odd that she showed up right after Adora killed Shadow Weaver? Maybe it’s a trick.”

Catra stops pretending to sleep at the mention of Shadow Weaver. Her head snaps up and Glimmer and Bow both jump back in surprise.

“Shadow Weaver is dead?” she asks.

They both stare at her. Bow’s face looks blank, unsure, but Glimmer’s is hard.

“Yes, Shadow Weaver is dead,” Glimmer says roughly.

Catra isn’t sure how to feel. She wants to feel overjoyed, relieved, content, but her gut feels empty.

“And Adora killed her?”

“Yes, right before you showed up,” Glimmer says and it’s as if she expects Catra to already know this.

“Right.”

Glimmer looks like she’s about to speak again so Catra says, “Can I stay with her? Until she wakes up?”

“No. You can go back to wherever you were before this.”

“Half-Moon. Where are the people I came with?”

“They are with the other princesses right now.”

“Tell them they are free to leave without me. I am staying until Adora wakes up.”

“I just told you –”

“I heard you, Glimmer!” Catra yells. She glances down at Adora. She is still asleep. “I heard you and I’m staying until she wakes up. After that I’ll leave.”

Glimmer crosses her arms. 

“Fine,” she huffs. She storms out, Bow trailing behind her.

Nazneen visits Catra in the infirmary. 

“We’re heading out after dinner,” she says, standing at the end of Adora’s bed.

“Okay,” Catra says. “Tell them I’ll be back. I just need to sort some stuff out here.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then:

“She’s the reason you came back, isn’t she?”

Catra looks down at Adora. Her hair is spread out on the pillow behind her. The light coming in is soft and cool and her skin looks paler than usual. There’s a bruise on her left cheek and three deep gashes underneath it, stitched closed by a steady hand. Her lips are parted slightly, chapped, and Catra hurts.

“She’s one of them.”

“I hope things work out, Catra,” Nazneen says quietly.

“I hope so, too.”

Catra stays with Adora for three days after Nazneen and the others leave. Bow brings her food and keeps her updated on the decisions of the Alliance concerning the Horde. 

“Entrapta explained that Hordak was a clone. He had to keep replacing parts of his form to stay alive. We destroyed his sanctum and he couldn’t keep up,” Bow says. He has brought her a plate of steaming food. It is good but not nearly as good as anything her mothers made for her. She misses them. “Shadow Weaver turned on us. Glimmer was completely blindsided.”

Catra hums. She knows the feeling well.

“Now with Shadow Weaver gone, we’re trying to figure out what to do with the Horde. Most of the soldiers we’re holding say they want to become part of society or do something to help. I think a lot of them never really wanted to fight in the first place.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I wanted to ask you.”

Catra’s head tilts. Bow chuckles. 

“I’m serious,” he says. “You know more about the Horde than anyone else here right now. Scorpia is doing repairs in the Crimson Waste right now and Entrapta hasn’t been too helpful.”

“You want my opinion?”

“Yes,” Bow nods.

“Let me come to the next meeting the Alliance has.”

Bow looks less sure. “I don’t know Catra. A lot of the princesses still don’t –”

“They still don’t trust me, I know. Let me attend anyway.”

Bow nods. 

“Okay. I’ll see you there tonight.”

The Alliance meeting takes place in a long room. In the center is a circular table, each chair around it designated for a specific princess. Catra sits in the chair with a large, blue mock Runestone in the head. _She-Ra’s._

Most of the princesses avoid her eye whenever she looks at them. Glimmer glares at her the whole time.

Bow nods at her. _Begin._

She stands. 

“Allow me to preface this by saying I didn’t choose to be a Horde soldier. I was taken from my home as a young child, taken from a life of love and compassion and raised in an environment where such things were so rare that to have the source of them taken away only made me harsher. My decisions are my own and many of them have hurt all of you. The soldiers that we discuss now, however, should not be held to the same standards. They were taken from lives of love and compassion but their decisions did not have the same impact as mine.”

“So you propose we do not punish them?” Glimmer says.

“Working in reconstruction efforts will be enough. They will have to tear down the Fright Zone and rebuild. Other than that, sentenced punishment is unnecessary.”

“And once they rebuild?”

“Let them live there. Let them live wherever they want but that area should be designated for them.”

“Anything else?” Glimmer asks, voice still hard.

“Children will be returned to their families. Outside of the proper area, land will be redistributed to the kingdoms from which it was taken.”

“And who will oversee all of this?”

“Me,” Catra says.

“No.”

“What do you mean _no_ ?”

“I mean I don’t trust you. The Alliance will oversee this. You will be allowed input.”

“That’s not fair! I should –”

“You know what isn’t fair, Catra?” Glimmer yells, voice shrill. “My mother dying! And that’s your fault, isn’t it?”

Catra’s head drops, her ears turn back. No one speaks. Her chair scrapes loudly as she pushes it behind her and walks out.

The return to Salineas feels longer. She tells an old lady by the docks that she needs her boat and that Princess Mermista will give her a new one, a better one, if she tells her Catra took it.

Catra has no map. The boat’s compass tells her she is sailing southwest. There’s a pull she feels. She follows.

The moons peek over the horizon as Catra reaches Half-Moon’s port. The ship they took to Salineas is docked. She docks next to it.

Elder Farhadi is standing at the top of the stairway when Catra gets there. By that point, the moons have all risen and birdsong fills the air. The twittering in the trees sounds familiar, and itch in the back of her skull. It is the loudest the forest has been since Catra arrived.

“Welcome back, C’yra,” Elder Farhadi says. “I hear you were successful.”

“Yes,” Catra says. Elder Farhadi turns and begins the descent down the stairs. Catra follows her.

“Then you should join us at the Council meeting tonight. Explain the situation out there. It may prompt the others to become more involved, to cease this needless isolation. However, do not speak out of turn. I do not want a repeat of last time.”

Catra’s head feels light and she knows if it weren’t so dark in the stairwell she would be fighting back her smile. 

“Yes, Elder,” Catra says.

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Havva and Suri swallow her in their arms, smothered in love and home.

“Welcome home, C’yra,” Havva says.

“Don’t do that again,” Suri mumbles into the crown of her head, still holding her close. “At least tell us when you’re running away for a few days.”

Catra chuckles. “I promise I will next time.”

“Good,” Suri says and presses a kiss to her head. “We worry.”

“I’m going to rest now if that’s okay,” Catra says. “I have to go to the Meeting House later. Will one of you wake me up?”

“Do you want dinner before you leave?” Havva asks.

Catra nods.

“Alright. I’ll wake you up. Go rest.”

Catra dreams. She dreams a world where they stay in the portal, fall apart together. She dreams a world where they stay in the Horde, tear the world apart. She dreams a world where she stays and Adora leaves, tear each other apart. She can’t wake up.

She is late to the meeting. Elder Farhadi pardons her.

“The Horde is gone,” Catra says when the Elders give her permission to speak. “Hordak and Shadow Weaver are both dead. I attended a meeting with the Princess Alliance. As of now, they are carrying out my proposal on how to disband the Horde.”

“Which is what, C’yra?” Elder Haddad asks.

“The end goal is to reintroduce the soldiers into Etherian society. Under direction from the Alliance, they will destroy the Fright Zone and rebuild within the proper. This area is designated for them but they are not required to stay within. Areas outside of this are to be redistributed among the other kingdoms.”

Elder Haddad nods. “That plan is sound. How will you ensure it is carried out?”

“Periodically I will have to visit the mainland to check up on progress.”

“So you will be serving as a diplomat on behalf of Half-Moon?” Elder Farhadi says, the hint of a smile on her face.

“In a sense, yes,” Catra says. “If you will allow it, Elders.”

They all look to each other and nod.

“C’yra of Half-Moon, from this point forward you will officially serve as diplomat to mainland Etheria on behalf of Half-Moon,” Elder Akbar says.  
“Thank you, Elder,” Catra says. She doesn’t bother trying to hide her smile.

She settles into a routine. On the eve of days of rest, she journeys to mainland Etheria. There, she receives updates on the progress of her plan. Sometimes, she goes to the Fright Zone herself.

“I think it needs a new name,” a voice from behind her says.

Catra jumps, scared by the unexpected presence of another person. She turns to find Scorpia standing behind her, arms covering her chest and shoulder turned in. She waves nervously.

“Hey, Wildcat.”

“Scorpia!” Catra says, grin wide. “Glimmer said you were taking care of stuff in the Crimson Waste.”

“Yeah, well, since Adora can’t be here right now they have me here,” Scorpia shrugs. 

“Adora was supposed to be here?” Catra asks.

“Oh yeah, she’s been overseeing this whole thing. I guess they figured she grew up here and knows you well so she should do it. Unlike me.”

Catra smirks. “It’s good to see you, Scorpia.”

Scorpia still looks nervous. Catra looks at the ground.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Catra says softly. “For not being a better friend before. For hurting you. I’m hoping now that this is all over I can make it up to you.” Her eyes sting. A weight comes down on her shoulder, light.

“I forgive you, Catra,” Scorpia says. 

Catra looks up. She opens her arms. Scorpia gasps.

Scorpia wraps her in what might be the tightest hug Catra has ever experienced. She’s okay with it.

On days when she doesn’t have to attend meetings with the Alliance or Council, Catra reads. The Great Library is full of quiet and secluded spots, dim but light enough to read and hidden from the rest of the world. Half-Moon’s history is contained in volumes, collections of letters and memoirs and reports and paintings. She reads of the abolition of the monarchy, how Half-Moon was the first and only Etherian civilization to do so. She reads of the build up to Half-Moon’s isolation, how the Horde invasion was merely the last in a long line of events that led to it. She reads of Magicat law, the systems in place to ensure ethical enforcement, to protect those harmed.

When the moons set and it’s too dark to read by only the light of the lamp, she returns home. Catra can smell Suri’s cooking on the walk back and has to fight back the urge to run to her house. Suri teaches her to cook sometimes, on days when she stays home from the library. Catra finds she likes cooking stews and soups – the repetitive action of chopping is familiar and easy and the time it takes to cook offers her space to read.

The smell tonight is strong with sweet spices and something rich. Suri is cooking some kind of bird she got at the market. Havva is sitting in the living space, reading. The fire casts a warm light across the room. Catra is content.

“How was your last trip?” Havva asks. It is midday and she is teaching Catra how to make bread. They knead next to each other as the light from outside streams in. Noise from below floats through the open kitchen window.

“It went well. I made up with a friend of mine,” Catra says. She pushes a little harder on the dough.

“That’s good.”

They knead in silence a little longer. Catra feels herself relax into the repetition. Then:

“C’yra?”

Catra hums.

“Who is Adora?” Havva asks, her voice soft, barely a whisper.

Catra stops kneading. “What do you mean?”

“You say her name sometimes when you sleep. You sound scared, like it’s a nightmare. Suri and I don’t want to push but we worry.”

“She was a friend of mine back in the Horde. She’s doing fine now. Nothing to worry about,” Catra says and she knows she sounds gruff but she can’t help it. She goes back to kneading.

Catra reads after dinner. She helps Havva and Suri clean up and then settles into the chair next to the fire with a cup of tea and a memoir of the last Magicat monarch. It’s a reflection on his childhood – one of duty and isolation, one that makes him feel inadequate, never enough, one that asks him to devote his life to saving others and sacrificing himself.

Catra looks up when she hears footsteps coming down the hall. Suri stands in the doorway, half cast in shadow.

“It’s late, C’yra.”

“I know.”

Suri walks over to her and perches herself on the arm of the chair, hand coming to rest on Catra’s shoulder.

“You always _know,_ C’yra,” she says softly, “but when are you ever going to let that knowledge help you? Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Catra nods and closes the book. She sets it on the other arm of the chair and follows Suri down the hall. They stop in front of her bedroom. Suri holds her face with both hands, cool and soft and comforting. She leans up and kisses Catra on the forehead. “Goodnight, C’yra. Sleep well.”

Catra goes to Bright Moon for the weekly Alliance meeting. Adora isn’t there.

“She’s in the Fright Zone,” Bow tells her. “She didn’t want to leave since you’re here.” He stops, brow furrowed and lips twisted. “I mean,” he stutters, “she didn’t want to leave it unattended. And since you needed to be here –”

Catra holds up her hand to signal him to stop. “I get it, Bow. Things are going well, I presume?”

He nods. “We’ll share her latest report during the meeting.”

They briefly touch on Adora’s report. Most of the meeting is devoted to the upcoming ball.

“Everyone needs to be there. Feel free to invite members of your own court or civilians or whoever,” Glimmer says. “We just want to do something to officially celebrate the end of the war.”

Catra wears the sherwani Suri bought for her. It’s crimson with gold embroidery. The pants are patternless but just as deeply colored.

The ball is crowded. Catra stands to the side, as far away from the crowd as she can get without it being deemed socially unacceptable.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” a voice to her left says.

“Entrapta?” Catra says, startled.

“Hey, Catra. How are you enjoying the ball?”

“It’s alright,” Catra says slowly. “Listen, Entrapta, I need to apologize.”

Entrapta hums, eyes focused on the crowd in front of them.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Catra continues. “I betrayed your trust.”

Entrapta turns back to Catra. “I know, Catra. You’re forgiven.” She turns back to the crowd. “You might try and find Scorpia. I saw her earlier.”

“Right. I’ll see you later, Entrapta.”

Catra never does find Scorpia. She looks for a while but every time she gets too close to the crowd, a princess draws her into some conversation about something Catra usually knows nothing about.

She gives in and leaves.

Catra wanders the halls. They are tall and wide and she feels like if she walks for long enough she might be swallowed whole by the shadows, never found. A voice from behind her, faint:

“It’s been a while, Catra.”

She turns. At the other end of the hall, a ghost. Moonlight streams in through the window she stands in front of, illuminating the hairs floating around her head, the details on her dress, and her eyes. Catra is sure she would see a glare in them if she stood close enough. 

Adora walks closer. Catra stands her ground.

“How are you?” Catra says. It comes out as a whisper.

“You left,” Adora says. Her voice is strong as she steps forward.

“Yes, well,” Catra stutters, “it was crowded in there.”

“No,” Adora stops walking, close enough that, if she had the courage, Catra could reach out and touch her, “you left Bright Moon. Before I woke up.”  
“I didn’t realize you wanted me to stay.”

Adora sighs. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t do anything right.”

“You couldn’t have expected me to stay, Adora,” Catra says, and this feels very familiar suddenly, a mirror held up to them. “I had to get back to Half-Moon. The others were waiting for me.”

“I have dreams, you know,” Adora says, and Catra does know. She does, too. “Dreams where I never leave Eternia and dreams where you never leave Half-Moon and dreams where we never leave the Horde and every time I wake up and think about how you’re not where I am.”

“I know, Adora.”

“And there are dreams where I die and sometimes you’re why and there are dreams where you die and sometimes I’m the reason and it’s like,” she breathes in, “it’s like I’m being shown every possibility for me and every possibility for you but there’s never a possibility for _us._”

“I know, Adora,” Catra repeats and this time her voice is raised. “I know,” softer this time.

There’s a gleam in Adora’s eyes. The scars on her face are free from stitches but still an angry, vibrant red. Catra can feel herself take in a shaky breath and she looks down at the floor between their feet and raises her arm just slightly, pinky extended, until she is hovering over Adora. Adora keeps talking.

“I’m sorry, Catra. I just wonder if you will ever understand.”

“I’m trying,” she breathes out. “I’m sorry, Adora.”

Something brushes against her pinky. She looks down and Adora’s pinky is wrapped around her own, loose.

“I know it’s you, Catra. It’s always been you and it always will be because I’ll always want it to be you.”

Catra doesn’t look up. She can’t bear to.

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” she whispers.

“But always the right person,” Adora whispers back and Catra can feel Adora’s forehead press against hers, can feel something wet and hot fall onto her cheek. She glances up and Adora’s eyes are closed, holding back tears. Catra tightens her pinky around Adora’s. Adora squeezes back.

Adora pulls her head back suddenly and says, “What if now is the right time and place but tomorrow isn’t?” 

Her eyes are wide and shining and puffy. Tear tracks mark her face and up close the hairs that have escaped from her bun create a halo, a crown in the moonlight.

“Adora –”

Adora leans forward, slow, and she’s whispering but Catra can’t hear her, can only focus on how Adora keeps moving closer and closer and she feels overwhelmed but like something might come from it, some kind of growth, some kind of good –

A crash sounds from the end of the hallway and then Sea Hawk and Bow are stumbling down the hallway, holding one another up and laughing loudly.

Adora pulls back and wipes at her face.

Catra looks at the mess down the hall and then back to Adora.

“I’ll see you around, Adora.”

She returns to the dance hall. 

Half-Moon is quiet when Catra gets home. She climbs the tree her mothers live in, past the house and to the highest branch that will hold her weight. She thinks about their outfits, her own with Adora’s, both white, and how at another place, in another time, she might be overjoyed.

It’s not the right time, nor the right place. Things are happening, everywhere and all the time, just not the right kind. 

Catra considers for a moment what it would take for her to have what she wants, to say it out loud and allow herself to go somewhere, to be soothed, to see things the way she so desperately wants to see them.

It’s just not the right time.

She tells Nazneen when they meet for lunch the next day.

“So you’ve loved this girl your entire life –”

“That isn’t what I’m saying, Neen.”

“– but you’re too scared to tell her?”

Catra sighs. “She knows.”

Nazneen lowers her cup, raises an eyebrow. “She knows?” she asks slowly.

“Yes. She has always known.”

“So you’re afraid she doesn’t love you back?”

“No. I know she does.”

“Then what’s the issue, Catra?” Nazneen whisper-yells, exasperated.

“It’s not the right time. We’re both too busy,” Catra says calmly.

Nazneen laughs. “So when is it going to be the right time?”

“I don’t know,” Catra sighs.

“And if it’s never the right time?”

“I don’t know.” 

Glimmer and Bow visit Half-Moon. It’s not completely unexpected and they aren’t completely unwelcome. Havva and Suri take kindly to the both of them. Catra wants to leave. 

Instead, she gets roped into playing host, serving tea and baked goods. It’s better than having to talk to them.

Bow catches her outside before they leave.

“She misses you, you know.”

“I know,” Catra says, smiling softly. 

Catra puts off reading the final chapter in the memoir. If it follows tradition, it will be his final wisdom. She’s scared of it, of what it might reveal. The wisdoms always terrify her.

She climbs her family’s tree, to the very top, in hopes that if she is exposed, she will be safe, if she gets split open, she won’t owe anything to anyone afterwards.

It is the shortest chapter in the book but only one line sticks with Catra, floating through her mind well into the night.

_If you want anything in this world, you must make it. You must make it for yourself and take it for yourself. Without creation, emotion goes nowhere, moves nothing._

Catra goes to the Fright Zone. Despite Scorpia’s attempts, the name stuck.

Adora has a home there now. According to the locals Catra speaks to, she has been living there for some time, occasionally leaving for She-Ra business.

Catra gives the door two hard knocks. There’s a loud _thump_ from inside and then the door is swinging open and Adora is standing in front of her, hair pulled back but falling out place and a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Catra,” Adora says, out of breath. “Hey.”

“Hey, Adora,” Catra says, smirking. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m baking a cake,” Adora says, pointing behind herself. “Or, at least, trying to.”

Catra laughs. “Oh, yeah? Can I see?”

Adora grins. “Come on,” she says and leads Catra into the house. It’s small inside. There’s a fireplace in the sitting area and a small dining table off to the side. The kitchen is in a separate room. There are stairs near the front that lead to a second floor. 

“It’s a bit of a mess right now,” Adora says, gesturing to the flour covering the counter, “but I can make you some tea if you’d like.”

“I’d love some,” Catra says. She pushes herself up onto the counter to watch while Adora continues to work.

Adora puts the kettle on and says, “It’s been too long, Catra.”

Catra nods.

“I’m happy for you,” Adora says, looking at the mugs in her hands. “You seem to have made a place for yourself in Half-Moon. That’s really cool, I think.”

“Adora?”

Adora looks at her.

“Why did you choose to live here?”

Adora shrugs, smiles sheepishly. “I guess that even after everything it still felt like home. It still reminds me of everything we did together before, you know,” she trails off. 

Catra nods.

“Adora?”

Adora hums, eyes still focused on Catra’s.

“Do you think this is the right place?”

Adora nods. “I think so.”

Catra hops down from the counter, takes a step towards Adora. When Adora doesn’t back up, she takes another step forward, then another, until she is right in front of Adora, close enough to touch her.

“Adora?”

“Yeah?” Adora says, breathless as before.

Catra reaches out, eyes focused on Adora’s, until she touches something smooth and hard and cold. She takes the mugs from Adora’s hands and sets them on the counter. From here she can see the gray in Adora’s eyes and the nick in her forehead that deepens whenever she is surprised and the scars in her cheeks, deep and harsh, and –

“Do you think we can make this the right time?”

“What do you mean?” Adora asks.

“I mean Etheria is never going to just let us have a right time. We have the right place and the right person and I’m afraid, Adora, because what if we keeping telling each other we’ll wait until we get it right but we never do? What happens next?”

Adora kisses her. It’s not unexpected and it’s certainly not unwelcome. Adora’s hands are soft and warm against her body as she pushes her toward the counter and Catra realizes she’s getting flour on her clothes but it’s okay because Adora is there, in the _Now,_ and she’s kissing her soft and sweet and slow. The softest and the sweetest and the slowest. 

They pull back and Adora giggles, high and soft, and then leans in again and rests her forehead on Catra’s.

“We keep going forward, right?” Adora whispers.

Catra kisses her again.

Catra gets sick on her thirty fifth birthday. It’s no one’s fault, really – it’s winter and Cyrus catches the flu and passes it on to her but that’s just how things go. She’s propped up in bed with three different quilts trapping her to the mattress. Kaveh’s head is on her lap and she strokes through their hair, pulling out tangles. Somewhere across the house she can hear Cyrus and Adora laughing in the kitchen. They’re making soup for her, she knows, and probably a cake, too.

It’s snowing outside. Catra loves the snow. It’s cold and wet and messy and causes a bit of a hassle when the kids want to have a snow day but they love it, so Catra loves it too.

Catra rests her eyes. They feel heavy and the space in her head behind them feels too warm and closing them provides some semblance of relief, even if only for a moment.

She opens them again and Adora is sitting next to her, hand on her shoulder and soft eyes, soft smile.

“You fell asleep before we finished the soup,” Adora says and the hand on her shoulder squeezes softly. “Cyrus and Kaveh wanted to be the ones to serve you. Since it’s your birthday and all.”

Catra hums, says, “Don’t let me fall asleep again,” and rests her head on Adora’s shoulder. She feels Adora kiss the top of her head and move the hand on her shoulder down to her lap and entwine her fingers with Catra’s. Catra squeezes Adora’s hand and closes her eyes. She opens them again when she hears small voices from down the hall.

“You have to be careful when you give it to her, Kaveh. Don’t spill it anywhere.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good.”

Catra lifts her head off of Adora’s shoulder, sits up a little straighter. Kaveh appears in the doorway carrying a bowl of soup filled to the brim and steaming. It looks ready to spill any second. They take small steps across the floor towards the bed, eyes flitting between the wooden floorboards beneath them and the bowl in their hands.

“Almost there, Kaveh,” Cyrus says from the doorway.

A few more small steps and Kaveh is next to the bed. They hand the bowl to Catra and climb onto her lap. 

“Try it, it’s really good. Cyrus let me try some before he let me bring this up to you,” they say. Catra brings her hand up to their face and presses her thumb into the dimple on their chin, then kisses their forehead.

“I trust that the soup is good but unfortunately I don’t have a spoon to eat it with. Can you go get one for me?” 

They look down at the bowl as if doing so will point out a spoon Catra didn’t notice. Their eyes widen and they look back up at Catra.

“I’ll be right back, mom,” Kaveh says and then they’re jumping off the bed and running through the house, the sound of their steps carrying through the house.

“Cyrus? Can you come here?” Catra says.

He walks across the room slow, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Cyrus?”

He looks up, says, “Yeah, mom?”

Catra gestures for him to lean down. He does and she places a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you for the soup. Now, how much of this was you and how much was your mom? I don’t want her trying to take credit later,” Catra says, voice lowered in conspiracy. 

“It was half and half, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Well, more like sixty percent me and forty percent her.”

“That sounds more like it,” Catra says. She feels Adora squeeze her hand. “Does that sound right to you, Adora?”

“Thirty percent me and seventy percent Cyrus? Sounds right,” Adora says. She winks at Cyrus and he ducks his head.

Kaveh returns with the spoon – “I had to find the perfect birthday soup spoon” – and Catra eats what is definitely the best birthday soup she has ever had. 

It’s after the moons have set and Cyrus and Kaveh are in bed.

“I never thought we’d have this,” Catra whispers into Adora’s chest.

Adora shushes her, kisses the top of her head. “I love you,” she mumbles.

Catra smiles and lets herself be held.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/23/style/modern-love-lets-meet-again-in-five-years.html) nyt article
> 
> title from call it dreaming by iron and wine  
poalof on tumblr and twitter!! come talk to me!!


End file.
